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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27177475">Letting Her Hair Down</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenguinofProse/pseuds/PenguinofProse'>PenguinofProse</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Smutty Saturdays [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The 100 (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Also functional smut, Dysfunctional smut, F/M, Insecure Clarke, Possessive Bellamy, Smut, Smut and Fluff, Smutty Saturday, lots of feelings, lots of smut, smut with feelings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 02:27:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,130</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27177475</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenguinofProse/pseuds/PenguinofProse</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Clarke gets a new hairstyle, and Bellamy struggles to deal with it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Smutty Saturdays [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1930432</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>265</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Bellarke smut</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Letting Her Hair Down</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello and welcome to another smutty Saturday! This is set right after episode 4.01. Huge thanks to Stormkpr for betaing it. Happy reading!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bellamy knows that Clarke is bad for his health.</p><p>He's known this for about as long as he's known her. That combination of the way he walks willingly into danger to protect her, and the way she makes his heart stutter erratically in his chest, is obviously not doing him any good.</p><p>But this? This is danger on a whole new level.</p><p>He supposes he shouldn't be surprised that she got a hair cut. Obviously she was going to get a hair cut sooner or later. Of course she wasn't going to keep her grounder hairstyle forever on moving back to Arkadia. Naturally she would choose something a little more practical and businesslike, easy to take care of while she tries to avert a nuclear disaster.</p><p>But he wasn't prepared for the ponytail.</p><p>It's a sensible choice for a sensible woman. It keeps her hair off her face, which is practical, he supposes. But it's also insanely distracting. It highlights her cheekbones, makes it all too tempting to focus on the blue of her eyes.</p><p>And most of all? Most of all, it exposes the curve of her neck.</p><p>He swallows painfully. She's walking towards him right now, crossing the hangar bay towards the place where he stands by the rover, her hair up in that new high pony. He hates it. He hates it, because it's just so damn tempting. All that exposed skin of her throat and the back of her neck is just crying out for him to nip at it, he thinks. Just begging him to mark her as his.</p><p>No. He's not supposed to do that. They're trying to remember how to be friends, and she's mourning a lover right now. He should be ashamed of himself for even thinking such things.</p><p>"You OK?" Clarke asks, when she's close enough for them to talk easily.</p><p>He swallows again. "Yeah. Yeah, fine." He lies.</p><p>"You look a little distracted."</p><p>Huh. Well that's the understatement of the century.</p><p>"Just worrying about the rations from Niylah. There's less meat than there should be." He should focus on that. That's a real and genuine concern, more important than his sudden obsession with Clarke's skin.</p><p>She shakes her head. She actually goes and shakes her head, tossing her hair, showing off even more of her throat. "Don't worry about it, Bellamy. We'll sort it out. We always do."</p><p>"Yeah. You're right."</p><p>She nods. He nods. They stand there, staring at each other in awkward silence. He hates it – he's pretty sure there was no such thing as awkward silence between them, before she left him at the camp gates all those months ago.</p><p>He wonders what to do about it. He supposes she's done some things to try to set things to right, to try to pull things back to some kind of normality between them. She's hugged him on beaches and whispered words of trust to him. Maybe if he's so obsessed with her neck he ought to try a peace gesture or two of his own.</p><p>"You want to grab supper together?" He asks lightly. "I'm starving."</p><p>"Sure." She says, as if it's automatic. As if she'd never even dream of turning down an opportunity to spend time in his company.</p><p>She leads the way to the canteen, and he tries very hard not to stare at the back of her neck as they go.</p><p>…...</p><p>It gets worse.</p><p>He walks into her office the following day. Well, Kane's office, technically, but Clarke's in all but name. He strides through the door, ready to invite her to lunch or something. Supper was a success yesterday, he's pretty sure.</p><p>But then he sees her bending over her desk, hair in a plait that tumbles over her shoulder, and his mouth goes dry.</p><p>A plait is a convenient hairstyle, he decides, and not just for working at a desk. He is rather struck by a vision of her bending over for totally different reasons, while he has hold of her braid to keep her in place and leans forward to mark her neck with loving teeth.</p><p>Crap. He really needs to get his fantasies in order.</p><p>"Bellamy?" She prompts.</p><p>He remembers himself abruptly, wills his cock to soften where it's starting to grow rather interested in his pants. He's supposed to be here to speak to her, not to leer at her.</p><p>"You want to get lunch together?" He manages to ask, throat tight.</p><p>"Sure." Again with that instant agreement.</p><p>"Great."</p><p>He strides straight out the room again. He has a whole half hour to get his arousal under control before they eat together, he figures.</p><p>Ashamed, but not seeing another solution, he heads back to his bathroom and jerks off in a warm shower. It's not quite as good as he imagines jerking off over Clarke's bare throat and naked breasts would be, but it's a hell of a lot more convenient. It doesn't come with drawbacks like the risk of ruining their friendship, or the fear of allowing himself to fall for someone who up and left him just a few short months ago.</p><p>And it allows him to sit through lunch with her without making a total fool of himself, so he figures that's about as good as life gets, while they sit around and wait for the death wave.</p><p>…...</p><p>When things first shift between them, it's an accident. They've been home from Polis a couple of days, and Bellamy is sitting in his bedroom trying not to think about Clarke's neck when the woman herself knocks lightly and walks straight through the door.</p><p>Damn it. He really must remember to keep it locked.</p><p>"You OK?" He asks her, because she's obviously not.</p><p>"We're no closer to our viable solution." She says, shoulders slumped. "I don't know what to do, Bellamy. All these people relying on me, and who am I? I'm not an engineer. I'm not the chancellor. I'm not -"</p><p>"You're <em>Clarke</em>." He tells her fiercely.</p><p>And then, because it seems like the right thing to do, he pulls her into a hug. He holds her tight, lips against her beautiful neck as he whispers words of encouragement to her. He tells her that she's doing her best, that it will be OK, that they'll figure something out, because they always do.</p><p>And then he runs out of words, and starts kissing her instead.</p><p>He catches himself a moment too late. He freezes, petrified, and decides that kissing his friend's neck during a hug is probably not a normal or appropriate thing to do.</p><p>But then Clarke shows him it's OK. She shows him by kissing his neck, in turn, and then kissing a slow path up to the shell of his ear. So he keeps going, places a gentle peck to her throat, then sucks lightly on the soft skin just below her jaw.</p><p>He's pretty sure this is weird. When he's got with anyone before now, they've started with conventional lip kissing, not whatever the hell this is. But despite being unconventional, this sure is beautiful, so he keeps going, focuses on enjoying the moment.</p><p>Clarke's kissing his hairline, now, just behind his ear. She's tangling her hands in his hair, too, pulling his head ever more firmly against her.</p><p>Well, then. He can take a hint. He keeps exploring, allows himself to nip and suck at her neck like he's been longing to do ever since she changed her damn hairstyle. He gets braver, sucks a small bruise into the hollow of her collarbone.</p><p>She gasps.</p><p>"Tell me to stop." He pleads. He needs her to do that, otherwise he'll keep going. If she doesn't stop him now, he's pretty sure he won't stop until he's marked every inch of her skin and has her writhing beneath him, coming round his cock.</p><p>She doesn't. He should have known she wouldn't – she's never followed any instruction of his before, so obviously she wasn't going to start now.</p><p>"Keep going." She breathes instead.</p><p>He does. He keeps going, keeps kissing, keeps suckling at her skin. He pulls away from her neck briefly, just for a couple of bruising kisses on the lips. They're good, because she's Clarke, and because he likes being able to taste her on his tongue. But somehow it's not quite the same as kissing at her neck, marking her as his, taking what he instinctively feels he is owed since she left him here, after Mount Weather.</p><p>"Bellamy -" She moans his name, and he remembers himself for a moment. What is she asking for? Is she asking him to stop, or is she asking for more?</p><p>"What is it, Princess?" That stupid nickname falls off his tongue. He'll be embarrassed about that later, he figures. Embarrassed to be caught clinging to an in joke that has long since gone stale.</p><p>"Need you to fuck me." She tells him without hesitation.</p><p>He gasps, his lips freezing against her throat. He never dreamed he'd hear those words from Clarke. He never thought she'd be one to beg, nor that she'd be so blunt and filthy with her demands.</p><p>Then again, she probably never thought he'd be obsessed with littering her neck with hickeys, he thinks wryly.</p><p>He gives her what she needs. He strips her clothes off – shirt and bra, too, even though he really only needs access to her crotch. For some reason he can't resist the chance to suck at her breasts for a moment, as well, and nip a little lower down her neck. He tugs at his own belt and pants, gets his cock springing free. He doesn't need to be naked. He just needs to be inside Clarke, and he needs it now.</p><p>He urges her back onto the bed, thrusts inside of her, sucks a new bruise into the front of her throat while he goes. She's moaning, loud and needy, digging her nails into his butt and urging him to move faster. He complies, rocking his hips against her, still kissing and nibbling at as much of her throat and shoulders as he can reach. She's been driving him mad since she got that new hairstyle – or possibly since they met, but who's counting? - and he wants her to know it.</p><p>Maybe he wants her to know other things, too. Maybe he wants her to know that he's still furious with her for leaving, that however sick he is of being angry, it's not so easy to let go of his pain. Maybe he wants her to know that he'll always take care of her, however angry he might be. Maybe he wants her to know that these things form a chaotic mess inside of him, and that he's still nowhere near straightening it all out.</p><p>She comes quickly, clenching around his cock, grasping at him with needy hands, groaning loudly. He nearly falls apart right there and then, but he manages to cling to the last threads of his control. He can't come yet. He mustn't. If this is the only time he ever gets to do this, there's another thing he needs to try.</p><p>He pulls out of her, lifts her bodily off the bed and pushes her roughly onto her front.</p><p>"Get on your hands and knees for me." He instructs her, pinching at her butt as she goes.</p><p>She complies wordlessly, quickly, eagerly. She's still panting from her orgasm, still flushed and a little sticky, as he pushes into her from behind and builds up a rhythm once more.</p><p>This is even better. He knew it would be. He reaches for her hair, grasps her plait and tilts her head back. He takes advantage of the angle to lean forward and leave a hickey or two on the back of her neck. She gasps with each one, gasps with each deep thrust, gasps every time he breathes her name.</p><p>He's close, now. He's really close. But he can't come until he's finished taking care of Clarke. Keeping hold of her hair with one hand, he slips the other one down to her clit to urge her over the edge.</p><p>He gets there just in time, tips her into a second orgasm just as his own hits him hard. He shuts his eyes, his world narrowing to the feel of Clarke around him and against him, her hair in his hand.</p><p>Slowly, he opens his eyes again. He takes in the sight of her on all fours before him, red marks scattered across the back of her neck, her hair tumbling from its plait, her shoulders sagging in exhaustion.</p><p>All at once it hits him.</p><p>What has he done? This is <em>Clarke</em>. This is his closest friend, when she's not running away from him. This is the love of his life, when she's not leaving him. This is the person he can rely on more than any other, as long as she's by his side. And he's just treated her like some kind of inanimate sex toy, just fucked her and pulled her about and even <em>bitten</em> her in the midst of his anger and hurt and passion.</p><p>Sure, she did tell him to keep going. And she did make some pleasure noises, and she did hold him tight, and she did have two orgasms. But are those things really signs of enthusiastic consent? Shouldn't he have done better?</p><p>And good god, but he really has left a lot of marks on her neck.</p><p>"I'm sorry." He mutters, his fast-softening cock slipping out of her as he backs hurriedly away. "I'm so sorry, Clarke. I shouldn't have – that was wrong of me. Did I hurt you?"</p><p>She cranes her neck and peers over her shoulder, looking distinctly confused. "How was that <em>wrong of you</em>? I asked for it. I wanted it."</p><p>"I hurt you." He repeats, horrified, still staring at her neck.</p><p>Her eyes dart away. "I liked it rough."</p><p>He's not sure why she won't meet his gaze. Is it because she's lying to him, or is it because she's ashamed of being turned on by rough sex?</p><p>"I should have checked you were OK though. I should have taken better care of you."</p><p>She rolls so she's sitting on her butt and looks up at him. "Really. I'm good. You know me – you know I'd say something if I wasn't having a good time. I'm not going to deny we could have communicated more, but you took care of me in the way I wanted."</p><p>He's not entirely convinced. He fixes his clothing situation, refastens his belt. Clarke seems to take his hint, as she grabs her own clothes and starts putting them back on. He honestly has no idea what to think about everything that's just happened here. She swears she's OK, and he's never known her to lie to him. But he's still feeling a strange mix of horror and pride as he looks at the hickeys on her neck, and as he reflects on a seriously hot but slightly frightening sexual experience.</p><p>It's frightening, to know that monster lives inside of him. He knew he was a monster, of course, but he's only just realised that he's <em>this</em> kind of monster, too.</p><p>But then once she's dressed she stays for a good ten minutes to chat about Miller's latest bad horror story, so he supposes he can't have ruined their friendship too badly.</p><p>…...</p><p>Breakfast the following morning is an interesting experience. Bellamy is the last to arrive, which is unusual in itself. But he was up pretty late last night trying to sort through his tangled feelings about Clarke, so he slept in this morning.</p><p>A good number of his friends are sitting at a large table. There's Monty and Harper, Jasper, Raven, Miller, and of course Clarke. He dithers pointlessly. He should obviously go sit there – that's where he would sit on any other morning. And the only other choice is a bunch of folks he knew once upon a time as a cadet.</p><p>Clarke makes the decision for him. She looks up, waves, grins broadly.</p><p>He's a little taken aback, both by the enthusiastic greeting and by her appearance. He supposes it's obvious that her neck would be covered in visible hickeys. He left plenty of marks there last night, and it's not as if Arkadia is the kind of place where people go around wearing scarves to disguise their sex lives. But he's still pretty shocked to see the stark purple marks against her pale skin under bright fluorescent canteen lights.</p><p>He swallows heavily, and sets out for the table.</p><p>"Morning." He says to the group at large.</p><p>"Morning." Miller greets him, laughter in his voice.</p><p>"Morning." Clarke adds, smiling brightly.</p><p>"Good morning." Raven concludes in a quelling tone.</p><p>The conversation proceeds slightly more normally after that, thank goodness. Monty has something to say about vegetables that is of little interest to anyone but himself – although Harper does her best to pretend. Miller has an anecdote or two from his recent missions with the guard, and Raven has some story to share about how she is the best mechanic in living memory.</p><p>To Bellamy's disappointment, they've barely been chatting five minutes when Clarke stands up.</p><p>"I'm sorry, I said I'd lend a hand in med bay. Maybe we can hang out later this evening, Bellamy?"</p><p>He chokes slightly on his porridge. "Yeah. Sure. Catch you later."</p><p>With barely a word of farewell to the rest of their friends – without making future plans with any of them, he notes – she starts striding away across the room. Bellamy tries not to stare as she goes, but it's a lost cause. She looks beautiful, because she always looks beautiful. But somehow she looks even more beautiful, this morning, now that he knows how it feels to have her come around his cock. And the sight of the hickeys on the back of her neck has such an odd mixture of possessive pride and shocking shame brewing in his chest that he's rather struggling to keep his mind on his food.</p><p>He looks down at his tray just in time to see Miller placing an apple on it.</p><p>"What's that for?" Bellamy asks, puzzled.</p><p>"Congrats on finally getting together with Clarke." Miller says, as if it is obvious.</p><p>"We're not together." He clarifies, because that seems easier than trying to explain that he's too ashamed of his roughness in the bedroom to accept Miller's congratulations – and too unsure of where he and Clarke stand, that as well.</p><p>Miller rolls his eyes. "Come on, man. We all saw -"</p><p>"We're not together." Bellamy interrupts.</p><p>Miller looks at him, considering, for a long second. And then, at last, he nods. "Whatever you say." He agrees mildly. "But I guess you won't be needing this any more." With that, he retrieves the apple and bites into it himself.</p><p>Bellamy's mildly annoyed about that. He does like apples, after all. But he's barely had chance to register his annoyance before his eyes flicker back up to Clarke as she leaves the canteen, the back of her neck singing for all the world to hear that she belongs to him.</p><p>…...</p><p>The second time is different. It's not an accident – quite the opposite. Bellamy and Clarke are walking out of supper together the following evening, when he turns to her with a suggestion.</p><p>"Do you want to teach me how to play chess now?" She's been offering him lessons on the damn game ever since they got back from Polis, and he figures that taking her up on that has to be a pretty sound way of making it clear that he wants things to be less dysfunctional between them.</p><p>"We could." She agrees mildly. "Or we could hook up again."</p><p>He can't quite believe it can be as simple as that. Is it really so easy? He's been simultaneously lusting after this woman and falling in love with her and somewhat loathing her for as long as he's known her, and she's just going to give him a second chance in bed? Just like that?</p><p>Well, now. He sure as hell can't screw it up again this time.</p><p>"Sure. We could. I'd like that." He admits. "Now?"</p><p>"Now works for me. My place this time?" She offers, as if this is a totally normal conversation for them to be having.</p><p>He nods, mouth dry. He follows her as she sets the pace down the hallway, and yet again he tries not to stare at her neck.</p><p>Yeah, he should really just admit defeat on that one. It's a lost cause.</p><p>They arrive at her room, and she wastes no time in locking the door and shrugging her jacket off. Bellamy supposes that shouldn't surprise him – Clarke is a decisive woman, so of course she's going to be decisive about this, too.</p><p>But he wants things to be a little different, this time. He doesn't want this to be so rushed or urgent or angry. He therefore takes his own jacket off carefully, sets it down on a convenient chair.</p><p>And then he steps forward, cups Clarke's jaw with a hand, and kisses her softly.</p><p>She sighs into his mouth, so he figures that has to be a good sign. He gets a little braver, urges her mouth open, kisses her more deeply. He keeps it gentle, though, cradling her face in his hand rather than tugging at her hair.</p><p>After a few minutes, he takes a new risk. He pulls away from her lips to kiss his way down her neck. But this time he really is kissing, not nibbling or sucking. He presses soft kisses to the bruises he left last time, hears Clarke give a breathy sigh. Encouraged, he keeps going. She reaches a hand into his hair, tangles her fingers in his curls, scrapes her nails gently against his scalp.</p><p>But then he realises he's got it wrong again.</p><p>"Mark me." She begs, holding his head firmly against her neck. "Make me yours."</p><p>He gasps, stunned as much by her choice of words as by the request. <em>Make me yours</em>. She can't really mean that, he tells himself. That's just sexy talk, born from the heat of the moment, not some sign that she thinks they belong together or anything so very meaningful.</p><p>"Mark me." She repeats, louder.</p><p>He honestly doesn't know what to do. He does find it pretty sexy to see his bruises on her skin, but he really doesn't want to hurt her, and he still hasn't forgiven himself for being so rough with her last time. Is there perhaps a middle ground? Can he leave her a hickey or two, if she really is into that, whilst taking better care of her?</p><p>He sucks gently at her skin, just enough to show he's heard her, that he's going to give her what she wants. But then he pulls away and tugs her shirt over her head.</p><p>"Bellamy?" She sounds puzzled.</p><p>"I've got you." He promises softly. "I'll give you what you need."</p><p>She nods, trusting. He unclips her bra, takes in the sight of her breasts for a moment. He cups them in his hands, feels the weight of them, rubs each thumb over a nipple in unison.</p><p>Clarke gasps.</p><p>"You like that?" He asks, remembering his resolution to communicate better this time.</p><p>She nods. "You can be rougher with them. Pull them about more." She tells him.</p><p>Hmm. He's not sure about that. He squeezes a little, feels the softness give beneath his hands. And then he sets about giving her what she wants. He ducks his head, sucks a bruise into the soft flesh just above one breast. She likes that, gripping at his head and holding him close, so he does it again.</p><p>"Yes. Yes, Bellamy."</p><p>He keeps toying with her breasts with one hand and his mouth while he opens her belt with the other hand. It's a bit of a struggle, undressing her one-handed, but he makes do. It forces him to take his time, at least, which is probably a good thing compared to last time round.</p><p>He pushes her towards the bed when she's naked. One of these days, if they keep this up, he'd love to take the time to get himself undressed too. He can just imagine feeling skin against skin. But for now, it seems like Clarke is impatient, and he doesn't want to do anything to upset her or reduce the chances of this happening again. He therefore unbuckles his belt and tugs his clothes aside just far enough to get his cock out.</p><p>"Which way round do you want me?" Clarke asks him.</p><p>He considers it. He remembers those fantasies he's had, of coming all over her chest and neck and cheeks.</p><p>"On your back." He says briskly.</p><p>She pouts. "I liked it on my front. I liked how you pulled my hair." She admits, eyes sliding away.</p><p>He hesitates. It's so difficult, this. He wonders if clear communication in bed would be easier for them if they were better at communicating outside of bed, too. If he was more honest about how much he needed her, or how much she broke him by leaving, would they be able to reach an agreement more readily, now?</p><p>He tries for some honesty. "I want to come on your tits." He offers. "All over those marks I've just made."</p><p>She gasps, eyes darkening. And at once, without further comment, she lies back on the bed, legs open to welcome him.</p><p>This bit is even better, this time round. They know each other's rhythms, now. He rocks his hips, and Clarke thrusts up off the bed to meet him, and before long they are both panting urgently. He paws at her breasts, tugs them around a little. She seems to like it when he pulls at them. She likes it even more, though, when he ducks his head and sucks a new bruise into the skin where cleavage meets collarbone.</p><p>He wonders if he's going to hell for this.</p><p>She's close, now. He can hear her urgent little whining noises as she grips his butt and urges him faster, deeper. He knows what she needs, and he gives it to her, thrusting hard until she's clenching around him.</p><p>He gives her a moment, but when she's done, he pulls out and finishes the job with his hand. He kneels there, looking down at her, flushed and happy and actually full-on smiling up at him. He rubs at his cock, urgent and flustered, until he's spilling his load all over her chest, even up as far as her throat.</p><p>It looks every bit as good as he dreamed it would, the splashes of white against her pale skin and dark bruises. It's a pretty picture. And he's still a little uncomfortable with the idea of causing her pain, but at least this time he's convinced it's pleasure-pain. And at least this time she outright asked for it.</p><p>All the same, he cannot help but dream of a future where he sleeps with Clarke and doesn't feel bad about it afterwards.</p><p>…...</p><p>The following morning at breakfast she's smiling again, waving him over again. But this time she's wearing a new top – a low-cut one, which proudly displays the hickeys he left all over the tops of her breasts last night.</p><p>He wonders about that. He wonders where she got it, in a world where new clothes are not in plentiful supply. He wonders whether it's really a good idea to be showing her love bites off to the world – sure, Ark society is pretty permissive when it comes to all things sexual, but he's not convinced people want to be saved from the nuclear apocalypse by an eighteen-year-old with hickeys all down her chest.</p><p>But most of all he wonders what it means, that she's so proud of wearing his marks.</p><p>…...</p><p>Two days later, Clarke invites herself out with Bellamy and Miller on their mission to pick up the latest batch of meat from Niylah. Bellamy doesn't understand why. She must have more important things to do around Arkadia.</p><p>"Why are you coming along?" He asks her bluntly. "Don't you have somewhere else to be?"</p><p>"Thought you guys could use an extra pair of hands. And maybe it could be fun to hang out." She tells him, not meeting his eyes.</p><p>He thinks there might be something going on, here, between the low cut tops, and the desire to spend time in his company, and the way she looks away whenever he mentions any such thing. Perhaps it's possible that she was confused and missing him, during that time she was away, just as much as he was angry and missing her.</p><p>"Yeah. Could be fun to hang out." He agrees easily.</p><p>She brightens, looks up at him. He takes a risk. He squeezes her shoulder, pecks her swiftly on the cheek. That's the kind of thing people in a sexual relationship might do, right?</p><p>She seems to agree with him. She catches at his fingers for a second, squeezes them lightly, before turning to help Miller load the rover.</p><p>…...</p><p>In the end, hanging out with Clarke at Niylah's is nowhere near as much fun as Bellamy was hoping it would be. He was sort of loosely aware that Clarke and Niylah had slept together a time or two, but today has him wondering if there is more to the story than that. There's something about the knowing way Niylah looked at Clarke as she invited them to stay for lunch that he doesn't like. And then lunch itself was awful – great food, but a solid hour of Niylah telling stories about Clarke. And not good stories Bellamy could join in with, not at all. Hurtful stories about her favourite foods and her misadventures while she was away from Arkadia. All the kinds of things Bellamy wishes he knew about her, but clearly has no hope of ever catching up on.</p><p>Niylah, on the other hand, knows these things <em>intimately</em>.</p><p>By the time they're driving home, he's in a thoroughly bad mood. He even seriously contemplates inviting Miller to ride shotgun, in order to avoid the prospect of two hours' awkward silence with Clarke.</p><p>Well, it's not entirely silent. They chat stiffly about a few things that don't matter – Harper's new hobby of knitting, Jackson's academic interest in immunology. Bellamy is only loosely aware of what immunology even <em>is</em>. In short, the journey is terrible.</p><p>He sighs in relief when they arrive back at Arkadia. He can unload the rover, then flee to his room and nurse his jealousy in peace.</p><p>Only that's not how it turns out, in the end. He sets out for his room but Clarke damn well goes and <em>follows </em>him. She shadows him down the hallways, walks straight into his room behind him when he arrives.</p><p>He whirls to face her. If she thinks she can just -</p><p>"Why were you being so moody to Niylah?" She asks him outright.</p><p>"What? I – <em>What</em>?" He splutters hopelessly.</p><p>"She was being generous. Why were you being rude to her?" She presses, stepping closer.</p><p>"Because you're <em>mine</em>." The words burst out of him, quite against his better judgement. He freezes, panicked, hears them echo around the room. This is bad. This is, quite possibly, the worst mistake he's made this month – and that's saying something. He's really gone and -</p><p>"You're right." Clarke mutters, taking another pace forward, tugging the neckline of her shirt down to reveal her bruises. "I'm yours. And you're mine. I think maybe I need you to remind me of that."</p><p>He gasps. As invitations go, that one was hardly subtle. And he's tempted – of course he is. Clarke's right there, her hair swept up and shirt tugged down to reveal a tempting expanse of soft skin.</p><p>But something stops him. He remembers how awful he's been feeling after sex with her, how much he hates feeling awful about something he wants to enjoy. He thinks about how those bruises look <em>painful</em>, damn it, as well as possessive. And anyway, it's not like he wants to possess her in some straightforward, shallow way – he likes it best when they are equal partners.</p><p>Most of all, he thinks about the fact that this is Clarke. She was the first person ever to see him for who he truly is – a guy who uses violence, but craves peace.</p><p>He gathers his courage, takes a deep breath. "Do you ever wonder if there's a different way to show that you're mine and I'm yours? I feel like – this still has a lot to do with how angry I was at you for leaving." He says, gesturing between them. "I don't <em>want</em> to be angry, but I'm finding it tough to let go, and I feel like that's... spoiling this. Do you ever wonder if we could leave aside the biting and the hair pulling?"</p><p>"I like it rough." She tells him, stubborn.</p><p>"OK. Sure. We could <em>choose</em> to do rough sex, sometimes. But I just – isn't there more to us than this?" He's aware that his next words will make him sound rather like a pathetic teenager with his first crush, but he thinks they need to be said. "Do you ever want to just walk round camp holding hands or kiss behind the rovers or just – just sit close together at breakfast?"</p><p>She looks surprised. "You want that? You want hand holding and breakfast?"</p><p>He steels himself. This is it. He can do this.</p><p>"I want it all." He admits to her, voice hoarse.</p><p>Of course, Clarke being Clarke, she simply gives a brisk nod. That's her answer to his half-confession, and it's so typically <em>her</em> that he wouldn't have it any other way.</p><p>"You're in?" He asks, disbelief and joy conspiring to make him feel almost dizzy. "You'll let me show you I can be gentle with you, too?"</p><p>She steps even closer, so she's right up against him, her breasts easing up against his chest with every breath. "I'm in. I'm not sure about gentle sex – I really do like what we've done so far. But if you prefer it we can try it. We can try whatever you like, as long as I can stay the night and you'll take me to breakfast tomorrow and hold my hand in the canteen."</p><p>He's simply stunned. He never thought he'd hear those words from Clarke. "You're into the hand holding?"</p><p>She nods, suddenly shy. "Yeah. I just – it didn't seem like you were into it. You were never into public kissing and breakfast and all that with the girls at the dropship. I guess I thought rough possessive sex was as much as you were interested in."</p><p>"None of the girls at the dropship were you." He points out easily.</p><p>There's a beat of silence. He reaches out for her, but not for a kiss or a cuddle. Rather, he traces the bruises on her neck with gentle fingertips, strokes the marks he's made.</p><p>"Do you ever think our relationship isn't the healthiest?" Clarke asks heavily. "I really did like you being rough, but I guess... maybe I didn't always like it for the right reasons. It was partly about it being hot but it was more like – like I was desperate for you to want me, after Polis."</p><p>He sucks in a breath. "Yeah. And I know – I still have some anger to let go of. I'm getting there, though. But I really think we can <em>make it</em> healthier. I know that you're important to me, that I want to take care of you. Isn't that what matters? We can figure out the rest."</p><p>She nods. "I'd like that. And you're – I feel the same way about you." She concludes, audibly nervous.</p><p>He smiles at her, hopes he looks reassuring. "I'm going to take my time with you today." He promises softly. "I'm going to show you how much I want you. But I'm going to treat you right."</p><p>She likes that. He can literally feel her melting beneath his hands, leaning into him further. That's good. He figures she likes it when he's in charge in the bedroom, and he just needs to show her that him being in charge ought to be more about him taking care of her than simply using her.</p><p>He kisses her softly, tilts her head back for a better angle. He strokes a hand over her neck as they kiss, flits lightly over her throat, finishes up resting his fingers gently at her waist.</p><p>They kiss for a long time, and it's beautiful. They've never really done this before – simply taking their time to enjoy a really great kiss. Clarke's lips are soft and eager, yet she's still clearly waiting for him to lead the way. That's good. He can work with that.</p><p>He takes his own clothes off, first. He figures that's long overdue. He sheds his shirt and trousers and underwear briskly, but without actively rushing. He doesn't want to ruin the atmosphere. And then he takes Clarke's hands in his own, sets them at his waist. He takes her ponytail gently in his hand, urges her to rest her head against his chest.</p><p>"This is good." She murmurs, breath ghosting over his skin.</p><p>"And you can tell how much I want you." He says, with a self-deprecating laugh, nudging his hard cock against her.</p><p>She laughs, then. He likes that – it breaks down the tension even further, helps him reclaim some of that comfortable friendship they shared before he got so angry with her.</p><p>They're going to be OK.</p><p>He undresses her slowly, trails kisses over her skin as he goes. He likes doing that, and likes kissing her neck most of all. He really is obsessed with that beautiful curve, exposed by her tied-up hair, but this time he wants to be rather more gentle as he pays attention to it.</p><p>Of course, Clarke gets impatient. She's <em>Clarke.</em></p><p>"Bellamy -" She whines, grinding against him slightly.</p><p>"What is it, Princess?" He's not so ashamed of the affectionate nickname, this time.</p><p>"I need you." She whispers the words right into his ear.</p><p>He wonders about denying her. That seems like the sort of power play she might be into, based on what she's said and done so far. But he decides that's something for another day – today is a day for making her happy in the most straightforward of ways, for cementing their relationship once and for all.</p><p>He lies her gently back on the bed, and lowers his head between her legs.</p><p>"This OK?" He checks, before he goes down on her.</p><p>She nods. "Yeah. Thanks. Can't wait."</p><p>It's such a <em>Clarke</em> response – that combination of urgency and affection – that he's smiling as he gets to work. That ought to make it difficult to get it right, he's pretty sure, but if Clarke's pleased moans are anything to go by, he's doing a damn good job of it.</p><p>He loves this. He's enjoying it more than he's ever enjoyed anything else in his life, he's pretty sure. He can almost feel Clarke's moans vibrating through her, can smell and taste her, has her legs clamped tight around his head. The best thing of all is when her legs start to shake urgently, as he teases her closer to the edge.</p><p>No, scratch that. The best thing of all is when she comes with his name on her lips.</p><p>He allows himself to speed things up a little, then. He hovers over her, kisses her softly for a few short moments.</p><p>"You good for round two?" He asks brightly.</p><p>She laughs. "Yeah. Get in there."</p><p>He does. He eases inside of her, starts rocking his hips. They've done this bit before, and they're good at it. But it's even better this time, as he kisses her full on the lips instead of burying his face in her neck. There's something seriously hot about the way she pants into his open mouth as they both lose themselves, climbing ever closer to the edge. Remembering what she said last time, he tangles a hand in her hair – not to pull it, as such, but just to hold her tight. Just to remind her that he's here, with her, and feeling appropriately possessive of her.</p><p>It doesn't take long for him to start shaking with the effort of holding himself together. He got pretty wound up, going down on her just now. And then Clarke is tearing away from the kiss to whisper words of encouragement in his ear.</p><p>"You're OK. You can let go. I'm there. You're OK."</p><p>He comes, then, collapsing on top of her, barely aware of his surroundings as she comes, too. He supposes it's maybe a little pathetic that the thing to push him over the edge was her reassuring whispers of <em>you're OK</em>. He seems to remember he wanted to show her he could take care of her, not the other way round.</p><p>But it's just typical of them, isn't it? They take care of each other.</p><p>"I'm staying the night." Clarke informs him briskly, almost before he has regained control of his breathing.</p><p>"I should hope so. Otherwise I'd have to walk to your place to take you to breakfast." He says lightly.</p><p>"That's settled, then."</p><p>He sleeps well, that night. Maybe Clarke isn't so terribly bad for his health after all.</p><p>…...</p><p>They do head to breakfast together, the following morning. They do hold hands as they walk the corridors, do stop for an occasional kiss along the way.</p><p>There's just one thing that contradicts Bellamy's expectations. Clarke wears her hair down, has the waves falling loose about her shoulders.</p><p>"Why have you got your hair down?" He asks openly. "It looks great. I'm just wondering. You've had it tied up since you moved back here." He reminds her, unnecessarily. She must know her own hairstyle, but he's on the edge of babbling nervously, here.</p><p>"I guess I don't feel so insecure about you any more. Don't need to show off the hickeys. You're right – it probably wasn't the healthiest way to start a relationship." She says with a shrug.</p><p>He trips over his own feet a little as they walk, tugs on Clarke's hand to regain his balance. He wouldn't usually associate insecurity with Clarke – she comes across as the most confident person in the world, most of the time.</p><p>But then again, maybe it's not such a surprise. If there's one thing he's learnt on the ground, it's that even Princesses have feelings.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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